


Wives and Lovers

by brocanteur



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-14
Updated: 2010-05-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fictional encounter during the filming of <i>Mogambo</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wives and Lovers

Maybe all of this candor is due to the whiskey bottle that lies nestled between them on the bed; the darkness that surrounds them; the stifling heat that Ava can feel settling in her pores; Africa, Africa.

When Grace asks about Frank, Ava kicks wanly at the mosquito netting and murmurs, "I don't really want to talk about him."

Grace turns onto her side and stares at her with the curious murkiness of a drunkard. "Why not?"

"Because Frank's..." Ava snorts and unscrews the cap off the bottle, takes a swig, and then another. Grace joins her; a few swallows and she's noticeably tipsy. Lightweight. "I just don't."

For a moment it seems Grace won't let it go, but then she nods, closes her eyes and whispers, "C'est l'amour."

"That's one interpretation."

"Tell me another."

"Have I really got to spell it out for you? S-E-X."

Grace smiles slowly, but doesn't open her eyes. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Ava laughs. It isn't exactly a well-kept secret, Grace's affair with Gable. "Well, sometimes that's all it is. Sometimes that's enough." She sighs and thinks about lifting the netting, about getting up and fumbling through the fog of alcohol for her cigarette case. Jesus, she needs a smoke. "Sometimes it isn't."

"You married him," Grace says. It sounds like a gentle reminder.

"He married me, too, honey."

—

Kenya was supposed to be a reprieve, an escape, but Frank is still sending her frantic telegrams every week; Ava loves Frank, but sometimes she can't stand him, sometimes it feels like he'll smother her with his love. Or maybe she'll do him in. Maybe they'll kill each other with it.

"Does Gable ever talk about his wife?" she asks Grace, while they stand back from the crew, watching Ford talk to Gable about a scene. It looks like a stern talking to, and Gable is annoyed. Ava can't say she blames him; it's hot, swelteringly hot, and they're all tired.

Grace's cheeks turn a darker shade of pink, but she doesn't seem offended. "He doesn't talk about his current wife, no."

"Oh." Ava calls out for an assistant. She wants a cigarette and a handkerchief. He gives her the latter, but says he'll have to go searching for a cigarette. She tells him to forget it, and he ambles back into scene, disappearing amidst the crew; Ava is terrible with names. She dabs at her forehead and turns to Grace. "The dead one?"

"The dead one."

"The dead always win. Unfair advantage."

"It isn't a competition," Grace replies. She fans herself slowly, tipping her head back, exposing her long neck. Ava stares and stares at the fine sheen of sweat on Grace's pink skin. _If she isn't careful,_ Ava thinks, _she'll burn._ "He's a nice man, that's all."

"If you say so, Miss Kelly." Ava plays a Miss Kelly in the film, and for a short moment, she suffers a flash of dislocation. "Nice is overrated, isn't it?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's all you want, for someone to be nice to you." She gives Ava a wistful smile. "He's lonely."

Ava laughs, loudly. "Is that what he told you? We're all lonely, honey. We're surrounded by people, and we're alone." The assistant finally turns up with a cigarette. He lights it for her and scurries away. Ava takes a deep drag and says, "Sinden's invited us for drinks later. You coming?"

"After wrap? In Nairobi? It'll be awfully late."

"Don't worry, you'll get your beauty sleep, baby chicken."

"I suppose you're the mother hen?"

"No, darling, I'm a hawk." Grace looks astonished, but Ava just laughs again. "Just ask Frank."

—

Ava knows how to drink; once, Frank told her, "Baby, you could drink King Kong under the table," and he meant it as a compliment. She's working steadily through her second whiskey sour and laughing at one of Gable's dirty jokes, when Grace arrives on Sinden's arm. When she sees Gable at the bar with Ava, she suddenly excuses herself and heads in the opposite direction, toward the ballroom.

"Jesus H," Ava says, when she notices Gable's expression turn grim. "You don't mess around, do you?

"And what would you have me do? Marry the girl?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself. She's not in love with you."

Gable's nonplussed. "Of course she isn't, which is why you should agree she's behaving like a child."

"Yeah? Well, she's practically a child, and you should know better."

Gable finishes his gin with a showy smack of his lips. "She'll get over it," he says, giving Ava a sloppy kiss on the cheek. He smells the way her father would when he'd dress up for church—like cigarette smoke and pomade—and at once she feels pity.

She gently pushes him away. "Get some sleep, old boy."

He smiles crookedly and that's the last she sees of him until the premiere. (He arrives with his wife, and Grace doesn't look at them once, the sport.)

—

They circle the grounds of the hotel; Ava carries a bottle of champagne and Grace says not a word until they've had at least half of it.

"I'm glad I met you," she says then, stopping suddenly, leaning unsteadily against the nearest surface, the trunk of a flowering jacaranda tree. "This whole experience, it's been wonderful. Truly."

"All of it, huh?" Ava takes a drink. "Even the bit with..."

Grace shrugs, staring out across the veldt. Beyond the hotel property, there is teeming darkness. "I knew what I was getting myself into."

"Is that ever true?" Ava replies, leaning next to Grace so they're shoulder to shoulder. The evening air is heavy with the scent of damp earth.

"I don't know."

It isn't that she's lonely—or rather it is, but she likes to imagine it's something else, something genuine, when she turns a bit and touches Grace's cheek, brushing back a strand of hair that's fallen against her face. "It's sort of a curse, isn't it?"

"What is?" Grace whispers.

"Being so very pretty."

Grace's knowing smile is almost a surprise. "Of all people to ask that question..."

Ava kisses her. She's kissed women before. Once, on a dare, she kissed Marlene Dietrich in front of a crowd of men. Later they did it again, alone, and it was exceptionally pleasant. Grace doesn't kiss like Marlene, who always knew what she wanted, who had as much confidence as a lion in the company of lambs. No, Grace kisses like she doesn't know what she wants, but is desperate to figure it out.

"Oh," she says, when Ava gives her room to breathe. "I must be very drunk."

"Not as drunk as you think, honey, but we can pretend if you'd like. We can pretend so hard we won't remember a thing come morning."

"You're as bad as Clark, aren't you?" Grace replies, but she's still clinging tightly to Ava's waist.

"Grace, I'm the very worst." It's meant to be a joke, and Ava's sorry to hear a wistful tone intrude into what should be a standard seduction.

Grace only frowns a bit, kisses Ava on the cheek, the corner of her mouth. "You mustn't think that. You've been very kind."

Improbable tears sting Ava's eyes, and she blinks them back ruthlessly. When she takes another swig from the bottle, she sways into Grace's embrace. "Sometimes I'm very happy," she says. "It's hard to keep it up, though. Know what I mean?"

"Yes," Grace says, nodding, nodding. "It's nearly impossible."

They clasp hands until they're back under the bright lights of the hotel lobby. Ava follows, and when they're alone again in Grace's room, they embrace. Grace's lovemaking is unsurprisingly tender, but she's hungry, too, hungrier than Ava would ever have expected.

"You look smug," Ava says, afterward. She's smoking a cigarette and Grace is on the bed—long and lean and naked.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

"I'm partial to memories," Ava replies. When she slips back into bed, she lies on her side, knees pressed against Grace's thighs. "Think you'll remember this?"

"It's already a blur. A drunken blur."

Ava smiles. "Tomorrow you'll say, 'Ava who?'"

Nodding, Grace steals Ava's cigarette. She's strangely serious when she says, "Your eyes. I think I'll remember your eyes."

Ava takes back her cigarette, stubs it out on the headboard. "Honey doll," she says, winking. "I'm aiming a little lower."

—

The next day, as Ava's slipping on her silk stockings, Grace presses a note into her hand and says, "Whenever you're less than happy, call me. I'd like it if we were friends. Real friends."

Occasionally they see each other at Hollywood parties; they exchange a smile and a continental kiss at the Academy Awards. Years later, Frank works with Grace in _High Society_ , but Ava's filming _The Sun Also Rises_ , and it isn't a good time for them at all. Surely, the Fates conspiring.

When Grace marries her prince, Ava isn't surprised. She tells Frank, fondness blooming in her heart, "That girl, she's always been a queen."


End file.
